Dream of a Silent Life

Two hands smooth across unfinished table top,
Hewn from eternal stock of walnut.
The slightest curve drawn along wooden edge,
Subtle as buddha smiling lips.
Every joint captures infinity with patience,
Seams become seamless in form.
Meanwhile, pines whistle above frozen winter workshop,
Somewhere fire crackles; breath steams.
And finally, the long-sought serenity;
The carpenter, with love, produces his wares.

In one lifetime, I transcend

Bodhisattva, I yearn.
Bodhisattva, I wish.
Bodhisattva, I want.

Monk, I've known you these ten thousand years.

Bodhisattva, I sit.
Bodhisattva, I breathe.
Bodhisattva, I blink.

Monk, I'm with you in this moment now.

Bodhisattva, I see.
Bodhisattva, I know.
Bodhisattva, I am.

Monk, I'll be with you always.

Lady Cat

I unpack my bags,
And rest upon a metaphor.
It's been a long time going,
I'd like to stay a while.

Stories do entwine and entangle.
Life is unpredictable.

Cat and Monkey
Cat and Monkey
I'll catch you mice
You climb my trees
Cat and Monkey
Cat and Monkey
We ride down this river
Will you tangle your tail with mine?

Lady Cat, where do you come from?
Your slender limbs and soft coat.
Do you eat fish?
Do you chase rabbits?

Lady Cat, how many hours do you sleep?
Your purring, expressive moan.
Do you have claws?
Do you see in the dark?

Tell me once!
Tell me twice!
Tell me all the way down
to when the river meets
the sea!

Collection of Two, Three, and Four Line Poems, #B

#101
You carry me, I carry you.
Walking upstairs,
Walking down.

#102
You love me, you hate me.
Rising breath,
Falling breath.

#103
Dropping like flies,
the seasons change.

#104
The lizard on the wall,
knows up from down.

#105
Love makes me tired,
solitude makes me cold.

#106
Slowly a place evolves,
darkness to light.

#107
Truth from my youth,
forgotten or disproved?

#108
Is it better to collect a thousand
unattached memories,
Or a few deep commitments?
I've already spoken my answer.

Untitled Mantra

This one photograph,
my talisman,
held fast and close to my chest,
against the Asuras and Yakshasas,
who gnash and claw,
and would fill me with fear, with doubt;
if not for this one photograph,
my talisman,
held fast and close...

Moons

The Moon is full.
I just saw it --
golden, round --
a perfect sphere.
But I am half full only --
and waning,
probably.

Do We Remember?

Do we remember honey and soap?
These are not the things you put in a bottle,
Or wrap as a bar in plastic.
These are much older than that.

And navigation by stars?

Yes, the City of Wind

Ah yes, the city of wind.
I know the place well.
Clouds drift and gusts blow.
What in one moment was right here,
The next moment, has gone away.

You pull up your collar,
And turn to the gale.
And I in my armor,
For once wishing to stay,
Am instead silently carried away.

This city can never be seen,
Yet you know it is there.
The way the banners flap and fly,
And how those tree limbs sway.
Silhouettes of one more going away.

In this place you never know,
Who'll blow into your view.
You can only enjoy brief collisions.
Then, quietly trimming your sails,
You hope with fateful gusts to meet another day.

This Artist

She puts paint in layers upon a page,
and creates a world for me.

small numbers

until today
the number "one" did not exist in my mind
and "two" was preposterous -- pretentious
i've only every conceived of millions & infinities
to their logical point of insignificance

but today
i saw that "two" is maybe possible -
against all of the unlikely odds -
and moreover, that two can become one

Is it so?

Thinking,
a thin electric thread connects;
intermittent, but going to, going fro.

Moments,
photographs placed into a box;
occurring and accumulating, one by one.

Feeling,
a wave on water;
swelling with the huge, unseen gravity.

Silence,
a game of riddles and hints;
speaking volumes, with no words.

Tomorrow,
an unwatched film playing;
flickering images and unknown endings.

Xalam

Waykat, Oh Waykat, take me away.
Take me to a land where nothing is grey.

I dont want to go home;
Here I want to stay.

Cradle me in your arms;
Strum the xalam you play.

Waykat, Oh Waykat, take me away.

Among Many

Inside a room, lamps illuminate.
Widely and infinitely.
But seen from a hilltop at dusk,
One point among many.

Salvaged from and Old Notebook #2

a poet fall-away landslide
a renaissance charriot breakdown
subterrainian hamiltonian
whispered regrets sighed like mayhem
pointed boots kicking dust into their eyes
a skeleton gown draped over the stage
black magnetic hypnotism
and a ghost-like glow from his eyes
long painted eye shadows
like discs in the center of the sun
he falls away into a trance
leaving lovers and wanters behind
like a stone of unimagined momentum
who lays waste to conservatism
and women weeping who want to hold on
green-like transcendence
and falsehood's hopes
a carry-away
a cast-off
speak to him, but speak to him really
people who are really real
are impossible to know
loved by everyone but known by none
like a knight errant in his glittering armor
like rocks on a grave
like a mind who hopes to create
did he want to write great songs?
how not?

Salvaged from an Old Notebook #1

Where are you tonight at the end of day
Where cold winds do not blow
And changing season brings no more hope
Than an opening in the grave yard.

Whose note had fallen from the sky
Like wind on some faraway beach
The sand grains scrape between
The turning gears of my mind.

When's flower is pressed up against Never's frown
A golden How's glass shatters
Silent whisperings and longings for a romance
Among uncommon minds.

He who lives outside the law
Should not throw stones
And he who does not speak
Should never expect to hear.

The Poet's Eyes

Oh poet!
Lend me your eyes!

Reading you,
I see I have never seen.

Hearing you,
I know I have never known.

So grant me,
Every color and tone.

And gift me,
Wondrous shapes and flow.

But pity me,
Even one more sightless day.

Not Now

A horn sounds, and becomes the universe in an instant.
Opposite Yes and No dissolve, and there only is.
Silence even hides ninety percent of what we don't hear.
And space is supposed to curl up upon itself in coils.

There is Nothing that sends you back to Nowhere.
A pig farm where you spent one day as a youth.
It does not matter; it cannot; but it does.
This is the paradox that stands before you as the last challenge.

You saw it, but your seeing it means you've missed it.
You need to see it only.  Not with eyes, and not with mind.
But see it Now.  And now does not ever end.
Can you forget this?  If you do, listen for the inevitable next sound of a horn.

It will bring you back.

Change

I am the changing seasons.
Violent swings.
And battling moods.
Heavy oppressive heat.
Crisp fresh air.
Baking sun.
Clouds and wind.
I am unstable.
At the joint between cycles.
Nature. Natural.
Nothing permanent.
Always in flux.
I know it, I resist it,
I know it.
Like summer to fall to winter.

Rain Comes Again

Today,
the rain comes
and washes my architecture
which had become heavy
and covered in dust and doubt.
A sudden monsoon downpour,
and it is clean again.

Only

I am here, only
the wind blows through me
past my bones
carrying drum beats
from across the city

I am here, only
a fragment of a myth
written but not remembered
of gods and heroes
and someone's truth

I am here, only
a man of flesh and blood
with no anchors
and no roots
but still, I am calm